


Kind Lies, Like Poison

by WishMage



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Asexual Character, Asexual Geralt, Do not repost, Drunk Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt says "I Love You", Geralt thinks he's lost his bard, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Jaskier is horrified when he realizes what he'd done, Jaskier thought Geralt was having fun too, M/M, Miscommunication, Misery, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Promptfic, The Witcher Kink Meme, Unspoken Love, aftermath of the prompt, asexual discovery, do not copy to other sites, huge misunderstanding, it will be enough to keep them together, mentioned dub-con, no beta we die like renfri, no sex in this fic, past dub-con, the potions make him horny, they work out that they love one another, witchers smell emotion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:40:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24335272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WishMage/pseuds/WishMage
Summary: When Geralt angrily snaps the truth that he'd never wanted the sexual relationship between them, everything seems to fall apart. It seems to break his bard. Can Geralt fix the mess he'd caused this time? Or is he doomed to lose his bard this time, like he almost did years ago atop a cold and distant mountain?Oneshot angsty little thing I couldn't not write in the middle of the night.No Beta because fuck yeah, Renfri. What is planning??
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 41
Kudos: 449





	Kind Lies, Like Poison

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this is NOT what the prompt OP asked for, but after reading the prompt I was struck with the 'what happens after' scenario, so after ten minutes of dazing out imagining it, I decided what the hell and started writing. Angst is not generally my bag, so I did my best to work the boys through it to a hopeful ending.
> 
> Prompt: _Geralt finally admits to himself he keeps trying to push Jaskier away because he's terrified of Jaskier leaving him, and decides to stop doing it. However, soon after, Jaskier confesses he's sexually attracted to Geralt and propositions him. Geralt doesn't want sex, but worried that Jaskier was staying with him in hopes of one day sleeping with him - it all lines up, why else would anyone willingly stay with him - and he'll leave if Geralt turns him down, Geralt puts out. And keeps putting out, every time Jaskier asks, feeling like he has no choice if he doesn't want to be abandoned. Since that's how it's always been for him before. (Meanwhile, Jaskier thinks Geralt very much wants this - either Geralt is good at hiding that he doesn't or Jaskier isn't being attentive enough to his cues)_  
>  _https://witcherkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/429.html?thread=394413#cmt394413_
> 
> Again, this is not what the OP asked for and there is no sex in this fic - it's what happens AFTER Jaskier finds out.

Everything had changed once Jaskier had unintentionally pulled the truth from him. He’d been charming and sweet and Geralt had been drunk, hiding an injury and irritable about it. The truth that he didn’t want to have sex and never had snapped out like the crack of a whip an instant before Geralt realized Jaskier had been pestering him to reveal his wound for treatment rather than anything about their relationship. The damage it inflicted had been immediate and lasting.    
  
A small “What?” Had escaped the bard with a humorless chuckle that died on his lips. He’d then gone pale enough Geralt had scowled and reached for him, worried he might pass out. At the touch, Jaskier had seemed to shake himself and looked at Geralt. The ever verbose bard only had one word, broken and soft, “Why?”   
  
“Because that’s what you wanted.” Geralt had growled out, feeling cornered by the hurt he could  _ smell _ on the bard, the scent of relief and happiness that had sprung up when Geralt had made his presence known after the latest hunt a distant memory, fading as the evening breeze swept through the camp. “I didn’t want you to leave.” He’d said then foolishly, desperate to fix the hurt he’d inflicted.   
  
Some two weeks later he was still cursing himself for it. He wished he’d never said anything, wished more fervently he’d denied the bard’s physical advances. He had liked the way the bard constantly touched him, unafraid and never shying away. Those touches had dried up, and the bard’s song seemed to have as well. Not that Jaskier didn’t put on shows both in public and private as he always had, but he couldn’t keep it up all the time and Geralt saw through the cracks in his performance. All the strumming at random times throughout the day and working on songs had turned into silence or sharing stories of people Geralt didn’t know or care about. Nothing of himself, no new rifts on his lute. He played other people’s songs when he did play.   
  
The smell of misery cloaked the bard almost constantly now, calling out the visually tossed smile and carelessly tossed out laughter for the lie it was. Even if Geralt hadn’t been able to hear the strain behind forcing his voice cheerful that damp, rotting wood smell of despair would have clued him in. His smiles couldn’t hide the way Jaskier’s hands gave abortive motions toward touching him that he no longer followed through on, or the haunted look in his eyes. Each night he’d laid down beside Geralt, but not touched him past a pat on the shoulder or hand in the night, seemingly to reassure himself Geralt was there when he half-woke before drifting back to sleep. Geralt knew because he hadn’t been able to sleep with the wrongness of the hurt scent pouring off the bard even as he slept.   
  
Hoping to ease that hurt, Geralt had picked a good inn to stay in. He’d gone to the heart of town instead of insisting on one close to the outskirts, just off the main road, as he normally did in places large enough to have more than one. He had ordered picked out and up food which now sat growing cold on the table, and a bath big enough for two, still steaming hot due to a quick application of igni before Jaskier had come up from finishing his set.   
  
Geralt had undressed and waited for Jaskier on the bed, thinking that with their bath he might be able to restore a sense of balance between them once more. He’d been wrong. Jaskier had come into the room looking somewhat worn but vaguely pleased and stopped in his tracks. He’d looked at Geralt, averted his eyes quickly as so many humans before he had and set a satchel of gold coins on the table inside the door before he murmured about having something to do. A lie Geralt could smell on him along with the panic that flooded the room and then he’d been gone.   
  
Geralt sat there for several long minutes, stung, replaying the way Jaskier’s eyes had torn away from him, and the stink of panic. It was like every other human he encountered, but nothing like how  _ Jaskier _ had ever reacted to him. A stinging new addition to the painful knot that had formed in his chest with every whiff of misery he’d caught and false smile that had been thrown his way. He grunted as though a blow had been delivered as he realized that he’d finally really lost Jaskier, in trying to keep him. He’d just wanted the bard happy and had done damage that he didn’t fully understand still. Unsure what else to do, he’d crawled in the tub to wait and lost himself to his miserable thoughts.   
  
This felt worse somehow then after the mountain, those years he’d spent without Jaskier. Hearing people whispers go from calling him White Wolf back to Butcher within a year had only highlighted how much of an impact the bard had on the entirety of his existence. When he’d finally crossed paths with the bard again he’d apologized as best he could and promised himself he would never push the bard away again.   
  
“Fuck.” He let out miserably as he sank down into the bath. Jaskier was  _ with _ him now... but it wasn’t what either of them wanted. His very presence now seemed to make the bard miserable, and now afraid. Geralt had done that. With his inability to communicate and thinking he knew best. He still had no idea how to talk about it. When he’d tried to tell Jaskier that it had not been entirely unpleasant the bard had looked at him with a horrified expression for a moment before quickly covering it and launching nervously into a story he’d heard from peers at Oxenfurt that had nothing to do with anything.   
  
Geralt didn’t know how to  _ fix _ this and hated the helpless sense that he’d hurt his bard and could do nothing to remedy that. He let his head roll against the back of the tub to look over at the food. He’d gotten the bread and cheese from a bakery to go with the stew that night, and apples bought from a farmer’s stand on the way in. Jaskier had assumed they were for Roach, and not been wrong exactly, but Geralt had only purchased them because he knew Jaskier liked the sweeter flesh of these northern apples. He’d thought that with a fine dinner and their ritual of bathing together when they’d been on the road for a while he might be able to salvage what his thoughtless words had once again destroyed, but after his bard’s reaction, it seemed his hope was dashed.   
  
The bath had gone long cold by the time the door opened once more, hours later, shaking Geralt from the miserable daze he’d fallen into. He looked over at the door to find Jaskier’s eyes on him, sad and fond. The man reeked of ale and sweat. Geralt had been able to hear him playing again for a time. Jaskier shut the door behind him, dropped a handful of coins into the wide satchel he’d brought in before and locked the door before setting down his lute and beginning to undress. Geralt didn’t move, watching him.   
  
Jaskier’s hands faltered on the buttons of his linen undershirt when he looked over and saw Geralt watching. When Geralt noticed, he immediately dropped his eyes, not wanting to ever smell that panic smell on the bard again. Not when it was them, alone, and Geralt knew without a doubt in his mind that  _ he  _ was the only thing Jaskier would have to fear. He was surprised then when Jaskeier moved over to him once he was finished stripping and wrapped his hand solidly around Geralt’s wrist. 

  
It was the first non-hesitant touch since the idiotic words had tumbled from Geralt’s lips two weeks ago. Even when Jaskier had insisted on cleaning his wound afterward, the bard’s hands had shaken. When he raised his eyes in silent surprise he found that same sad smile.    
  
Jaskier whispered, “Oh, my love,” in a soft sad voice that had Geralt blinking away a sting in his eyes and clenching his jaw. He felt just as torn open in that moment as he had atop the mountain the last time he’d ruined his own life with words spat out in pain. A moment later Jaskier’s hands cupped each side of his face and Geralt closed his eyes, leaning into them with a contented rumble. A kiss was pressed to his forehead, and Jaskier held his lips there for a few breaths time before Jaskier released him, pulled back, and pulled at Geralt’s wrist again.   
  
“Come on. Up you get. The water’s gone frigid and I’m not having you sick on top of everything else. Hush. I know you’re a witcher and can’t get sick, but humor me.” The bard stopped pulling and looked at Geralt, a bit of that haunted look finding its way back to his eyes despite the ale flush. “Just... not too much. If you don’t love me, I don’t want...  _ that _ , Geralt.”   
  
Geralt scowled as he got out of the tub, unhappy with the entire situation. When Jaskier fetched a towel and came toward him, then hesitated, Geralt reached out, caught the bard’s wrist through the towel and pulled him closer, until his wrist was held down beside Geralt hip and they were about chest to chest.    
  
“I never said that.” At the bard’s confused, ale-addled frown, Geralt clarified.   
  
“I never said I didn’t love you, Jaskier.” When Jaskier yanked his hand back, Geralt released it and watched the bard step back, the towel fell to the flood between them. Confusion and upset warred on Jaskier’s face for a moment before somehow both settling there simultaneously.   
  
“If you loved me, then why did you say that? That you never  _ wanted _ me?” The question burst from him so explosively that Geralt knew the bard had been replaying it in his mind since then and he cursed himself for not pushing them into talking sooner. He looked away in shame.   
  
“I don’t want anyone. It wasn’t  _ you _ .” Jaskier’s hollow, disbelieving laugh caught him by surprise and he looked up sharply to find a bitter smile on Jaskier’s lips and tears on his cheeks.   
  
“You wanted Yennefer. So I guess it’s just me then? Or... are you only saying you don’t not love me  _ now  _ because you think I’ll leave?” The question, or what it represented, was like an arrow to the lung. He’d lost Jaskier’s trust, entirely. There would be nothing he could do to win it back because Jaskier would always wonder if Geralt was only doing it to bind the bard to him.    
  
Geralt’s shoulders sagged in defeat and he felt the weight of the world on him like he’d not felt since before the bard had wandered into his life and brought a sense of light, life, and wonderment along with him. He noted the look of surprised concern on Jaskier’’s face, but turned away from it.    
  
“Leave then.” Geralt said, hating himself even as he let Jaskier go. The bard was just going to be miserable traveling with him, never trust that Geralt wasn’t saying and doing things to keep him around. Rightly so, he considered, regret heavy in his chest. He had never seen Jaskier as miserable as he’d been lately, and he didn’t want to be the anchor that pulled the bard out of his rightful place in the sun and drowned him. It was too close to what he’d feared all those years he’d tried to push Jaskier away for the bard’s own good. The miserable noise Jaskier made then punched the breath out of Geralt, and he closed his eyes again as though he could block out everything. 

  
“Geralt.” Jaskier sobbed, and his head snapped up, he stepped toward the bard without thought, raised his hands instinctively to comfort or protect at that tone, and then held them uselessly up between them for a moment when Jaskier didn’t move back toward him before they slowly dropped. He searched the bard’s miserable, crumpled face as though he could find a clue as to what to do, and Jaskier, ever able to read him, insisted, “ _ Talk _ to me, dammit. Don’t just go silent and cut me out and throw me away  _ again _ .” He sobbed again and Gerlt closed the distance between them and pulled Jaskier into his arms.   
  
Jaskier hiccced in a few breaths strung tight and shaking in Geralt’s arms before releasing them with a shuddering sob that seemed to rob him of the tension and then hugging Geralt as desperately as he ever had when one of them had almost been killed. Geralt crushed the bard to him and buried his nose in his hair for a moment. Even with the lingering scent of travel, and his performance, the ale that had been spilled on his sleeve, his scent still calmed Geralt. He took a few deep breaths as the bard fell apart in his arms and once the sobbing turned to deep, shuddering breaths, Geralt lifted him like he did Ciri when she was asleep on her feet after a day training with Vessemir or Yenn and carried him over to the bed.   
  
He sat, still dripping a bit and not caring, on the edge of the bed and held Jaskier in his lap, cradled close. “I wanted to be normal. As much as I’ll ever be. I’ve never had the appetite for it- except after taking potions. It creeps up in me and only fades when I’ve meditated.. But none of my brothers seemed to suffer the lack of appetite like I did. Yennefer... me being drawn to her was because of the wish I made. A foolish wish... and then I couldn’t seem to help myself. What I have with  _ you  _ is real.” He locked eyes with the bard at the miserable noise Jaskier made.   
  
“I love you.” Geralt said then, knowing it needed to be said. Praying that Jaskier would believe him. “I... the sex... I don’t hate it. I am not driven to it without potions, but Jaskier.- You always made me feel good. Even-” Geralt trailed off and closed his eyes, pained. He was bad with words and always had been, and it frustrated him so each time that he ended up yelling or growing at whoever he was trying to talk to and he didn’t  _ want _ to do that now. Couldn’t afford to when Jaskier was so hurt. When he was on the cusp of losing his bard decades before he should, by all rights.   
  
Jaskier’s hands found his face again, caressing this time, soothing and Geralt sighed out his frustration and opened his eyes to meet Jaskier’s.   
  
“I forced myself upon you.” The bard said, surprising Geralt. “I forced myself on you, time and time again, and you  _ let _ me because you thought I’d  _ leave _ .” That haunted look was back, the horror and sadness and Geralt shook his heart to deny it, momentarily dislodging Jaskier’s hands.   
  
“No.” Geralt growled, hating himself for not realizing  _ this  _ was what Jaskier had been struggling with. For thinking it had been the lie that was Geralt’s acceptance of Jaskier’s more carnal desires. It was, but not as Geralt had been imaging. He’d set Jaskier on a path of self-immolation and watched him burn without realizing he’d handed Jaskier the torch to light the pyre.   
  
“ _ Fuck _ , Jaskier,  _ no _ .” Geralt ground out, wanting to deny that. “It was never like that. You never  _ forced _ me into anything. I wanted to give you everything. I still do. I’m not- I’m broken. You never did anything that hurt me.” Geralt’s arms curled a little more tightly around Jaskier.    
  
“I don’t mean to keep hurting  _ you _ .” The witcher muttered, and was shocked when a moment later Jaskier was pushing up out of his arms to  _ kiss _ him. Geralt’s hands had gone somewhat slack the moment Jaskier had begun pushing his way up out of his arms, but they found their way to Jaskier’s back and held him there as they kissed. Jaskier’s wet cheeks brushed Geralt, the sharp salty scent a reminder of the miserable smell that seemed to be fading.   
  
When Jaskier pulled back to take a deep breath, Geralt reached up to gently wipe the tears from his face, his own fingers still a little damp from the bath. Water dripped from his hair and Jaskier shivered as a drop hit his chest where he’d unlaced the undershirt. Neither of them moved until Jaskier kissed him again. Softly and brief this time.   
  
“So...” The bard began, and Geralt just waited, hope alighting in his heart to lighten the despair he’d felt earlier when he realized he’d already all but lost Jaskier. “So, we’re idiots?” Jaskier asked, and Geralt frowned because this was his fault, not Jaskier’s.   
  
“So...” Jaskier fumbled forward, words stilted as he processed things. “You  _ do _ love me, and I love you, and we’ve both been miserable for weeks because you don’t want sex but were afraid I’d leave you if you told me.” Geralt sighed then, because that was true, at least. He nodded.   
  
“You’re not  _ broken _ , Geralt,” Jaskier said kindly, his long fingers on Geralt’s face again, stroking up his neck, twining in his hair. Geralt had missed the free touched so much that his eyes went half-lidded and his chest began to rumble in that way that always delighted Jaskier, and only ever happened around the bard.    
  
“You’re asexual. It means that you aren’t always drawn to sex, like a lot of people, and that’s okay. It’s not exactly talked about, outside of courts. If I had known, I never would have-”   
  
Geralt caught Jaskier’s hand and pinned him with a look that surprisingly, seemed to steal the words from him. “I know.” Geralt rumbled, looking Jaskier in the eyes. Grateful that Jaskier had pushed him into talking Grateful that  _ now _ he was trying to make Geralt feel better when Geralt had so  _ wounded _ him. “I know you would never hurt me. I just didn't want to disappoint you.”   
  
Jaskier stared up at him with a vaguely lost look, and then said, “Fuck, Geralt.” And threw his arms around Geralt once more, crushing him in a hug that made Geralt feel cradled, rather than the other way around. He released a breath and once more gathered his bard to him,   
  
Geralt’s lips curled up slightly, the sting fading hurt making the expression slightly bitter, when Jaskier whispered “You ridiculous wolf.” into his hair. A moment later Jaskier pulled away. Geralt released him, despite not wanting to, only to have the towel tossed over his head, and his hair scrubbed at.   
  
“You’re dripping all over the bed,” Jaskier complained in a light tone that Geralt hadn’t heard ring true in two weeks. The rotted wood smell of misery was fading from the bard, and the grass and sunshine smell Geralt associated with Jaskier normally was returning. Geralt basked in the scents until Jaskier pulled him into bed and Jaskier asleep curled against Geralt and clinging,   
  
Geralt laid awake watching the bard, grateful for the forgiveness he’d found and that the last hint of pain had fallen away from the bard’s face, and with a kiss to his forehead, Geralt let himself sleep.   


**Author's Note:**

> Everything sucks and I live off comments. Brighten my day?


End file.
